The Engagement and Marriage of Christopher Chant
by The Hart and Hound
Summary: Given fate’s sense of humor, Christopher knew that he should not expect perfection out of something as important as a marriage ceremony. It was a pity that he was so intent on it regardless. A Chrestomanci tale told in twelve ficlets on Murphy’s Law.
1. Murphy's First Law

Title: The Engagement and Subsequent Marriage of Christopher Chant

Author: tsubaki-hana

Series: Chrestomanci

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Chrestomanci belongs to Diana Wynne Jones.

Summary: Given fate's sense of humor, Christopher knew that he should not expect perfection out of something as important as a marriage ceremony. It was a pity that he was so intent on it regardless. (Chrestomanci. Twelve ficlets on Murphy's Law. Christopher/Millie.)

Warnings: Spoilers for "The Lives of Christopher Chant" and "Conrad's Fate".

* * *

Murphy's First Law: Nothing is as easy as it looks.

* * *

He could do this.

If he took one more perfectly reasonable walk around the castle, he was quite certain that he could do this. After all, there was absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to mull over what he was going to say just one more time, just to make sure everything came out right the first time. With luck, he would get around to doing his preordained task before the moon set for the night. Perfection of appearance was something that Christopher Chant valued, and he was not going to push that aside in a rush of passion.

Not that Millie would particularly care, but it was important to him, or at least he thought it might be important. It was beginning to sound more and more like an excuse, and excuses were not acceptable at all. Logic dictated that he was in the right by waiting until he was ready to say anything.

Right, two walks around the castle and then he should be fine.

The only problem was, Christopher was relatively certain that he would not be okay, no matter how many times that he walked around the castle, because no matter how many times he thought through what he wanted to say, it always came out all twisted and not at all what he had intended to say to begin with. Practicing in front of a mirror had not helped in the slightest bit, and had in fact made him feel rather silly, proposing marriage to his own reflection. (Not that he wasn't beautiful enough to marry, mind you, but beyond the fact that there was only one of him because of being a nine-lived enchanter, it was just silly to imagine himself wearing a white dress.)

That, and it had been highly embarrassing when Gabriel had walked in to find him on one knee, looking determinedly ardent. Christopher chose to not think about that too frequently. It made him feel like he had eaten a bad egg sandwich.

Another method he had attempted was subtlety. Millie, he knew was still quite infatuated with the Millie book series, so he had felt very witty when he had bought her one of the books that she did not yet own and slipped his own personal message into the front cover to be discovered when Millie tore the front cover. (This was supposed to be an inevitability. Millie _always _read with an intensity that left her books looking a little worse for wear.)

As fate would have it, the cover had not only not torn, but had been embossed so nicely that there had not even been damage from the day that Millie had set it down on the kitchen table and had come back to find marmalade all over it. Christopher certainly wasn't going to tell her it was there. That would be direct and not at all subtle, which would bring him back to his current problem.

Christopher was adamant that he was not nervous at all. He had thought this through for a while now, and by the time he had figured out what he was going to say, he was feeling rather debonair and dashing. After all, he had procured a lovely ring. ("This is where I keep my second life, which I am going to give to you!" he had written down somewhere on a wrapper, not thinking it sounded dubious or silly at all.) His clothes were always immaculate. He usually left people in awe of his sense of wit, and this he knew by their stunned silences, clenching their teeth in what could only be admiration of his style! There was nothing to suggest this could go wrong in any capacity.

Only it was.

As a matter of fact, it was beginning to go horribly, if Millie coming up the lane with her handkerchief brandished like a shield had anything to say about it. Although Millie had never been a particularly pretty girl, average really, she had always managed to look halfway decent when crying, or at least when she had gotten a bit older. She did a fair amount of dripping on people since she was easily moved to emotion, so he supposed it was only normal for her face to be blotchy with anger, happiness, embarrassment, or sadness.

At the risk of sounding like a love-struck idiot, he decided that the look was quite fetching on her. Of course, then his mind caught up with his heart, and he immediately began to jump to conclusions. Maybe Millie had finally ripped the coverlet of her book and he wasn't going to have to say anything at all other than "wonderful" or "a right shame that is." (He really didn't want to have to say the latter, but he would take it as it came.)

"Oh, Christopher!" said Millie, still coming toward him at a full tilt, "I knew that something was wrong, and now I finally know what it is!" she shouted, as though this covered an entire conversation. The only problem was that the first half was still missing. "And yes, yes, it was my fault!"

Christopher was at a loss. He wasn't sure of what she was saying at all, though it did have the feel of a conversation that might be had after a person discovered they had indirectly been proposed to. Still cautious, Christopher decided to move forward into the conversation, practicing the powers of ambiguity that Gabriel seemed so fond of.

Excitement was getting the better of him.

"It's nothing Millie. I'm just happy it's out in the air now. What do you think?" he asked, trying to sound as dignified as he thought he ought to sound. He hid his hands behind his back, slightly concerned that there might have been a tremor in them. (This of course had to be the fault of the chill that was going around the castle grounds. Christopher Chant did _not_ get nervous around his sweetheart.)

"Oh, I think it's perfectly beastly."

"What?!" It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. How could she think his proposing was perfectly beastly? They had been properly courting for a year now, not including the years spent together at Chrestomanci Castle. For a few horrifying minutes, Christopher thought he might vomit a long string of incoherent phrases that would all inevitably begin or end in 'why' and 'but I'. Silver in Series Seven was almost sounding promising in comparison to how he felt now.

Finally, he had to say it. "But why?"

Millie blew her nose into her handkerchief, looking perfectly lovely with her nose puffy and red. Christopher was dismayed at the sudden realization that he may not get to see much more of this in the future (though why the snot part would bother him was beyond him). "You're such a wonderful person, Christopher, and I am a clumsy girl that can't even bother to complete finishing school. I'm sorry I've been so awful to you," said Millie.

"But you haven't! You've been wonderful!" he started desperately, beginning to feel all those practiced 'in case of rejection' speech words flying out of his head at a rate that would make any person's head spin. Bewilderment couldn't have been written any more obviously across his face if someone took a black marker and spelled it out on his forehead. "Can't we work this out somehow?"

His voice cracked. Bad sign.

He ran a hand through his immaculate hair, suddenly overcome with the paranoia of his hair being out of place. "I want to spend the rest of my earthly lives with you," he said, beginning to wish he weren't so pitiful sounding. Christopher was embarrassed enough without his voice betraying him as well. "I thought we were going to be stuck with one another for the remainder of our years."

Millie gave him an annoyed (but slightly touched) look. "Christopher, I'm not going to leave because of this. I just felt so horribly over it that I had to tell you."

Christopher was desperate. "But I love you. Does this mean you say no?"

"No to what?"

"To marrying me!" he said, frustration growing by the moment. He was almost afraid he might cry at any given moment. (Of course he wouldn't, not while he was still in his right might, no matter how little of that he was in.)

There was a moment where there were no more hysterics from Millie and he breathed heavily, trying very hard to not attempt escape to Series Eleven. It sounded more friendly at the moment. However, before he could pull out his chalk and set to work, Millie suddenly squealed, girlishly and shrill. Christopher thought he might have lost an eardrum to Millie's sudden excitement.

She ran up to him and kissed him full on the lips, smiling like a fool. Between the squealing and kissing, Christopher was too stunned to do much of anything.

"And here I thought we were talking about my burning holes into your blue velvet suit!" she said, backing up and almost dancing with joy. "Christopher Chant, of course I'll marry you!"

Christopher almost swept her up as well, so pleased that he had misunderstood the whole situation and not ever had to actually propose, until the 'holes in suit' part suddenly registered in his mind. "You burnt holes into my blue velvet suit?"

"Yes, with an iron, but does that matter? We're going to get married!"

"...You burnt holes in my suit."

Millie seemed to block out the conversation at that point, and simply grabbed one suede sleeve and pulled him back toward the castle, listing off all the people she was going to have to tell immediately, and that she insisted on getting married in the spring so that she could have flowers all around her, and that the roses were going to have to be just so.

Christopher, still stuck in a realm between the slightly more prevalent Extreme Delight and the lesser but still existent Aggravation For Goods Lost, was at a complete loss at how differently the scenario had played out from his expectations. As a matter of fact, the only thing that was anything like what he had imagined was Millie dragging him off to parts unknown to tell everyone what had just happened.

For the sake of what dignity he had left, Christopher hoped she left out the part about his nearly crying over a confession about burnt laundry.

He had just had a rather difficult night.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

A/N: There's 12 left to go, so hold tight and hope that Christopher's luck prevails over Murphy's law! Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome.


	2. Murphy's Second Law

Title: The Engagement and Subsequent Marriage of Christopher Chant (2 of 12)

Author: tsubaki-hana

Series: Chrestomanci

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Chrestomanci belongs to Diana Wynne Jones

Summary: Given fate's sense of humor, Christopher knew that he should not expect perfection out of something as important as a marriage ceremony. It was a pity that he was so intent on it regardless. (Chrestomanci. Twelve ficlets on Murphy's Law. Christopher/Millie.)

* * *

Murphy's Second Law: Everything takes longer than you think.

* * *

Christopher was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to be allowed to get married.

It had all seemed so simple when he had first thought of the issue. Obviously there would be a waiting period where Millie would angst over the colours of her bridesmaids' dresses and Christopher would stress over the money everything would cost. (It really wasn't that much of an issue, considering that Gabriel was more than happy to pay for more than half of it as Millie's guardian.) There was an obligatory ceremony that he would have to attend and a fair amount of documents to be signed and dated, which Christopher was certain would cost a lot of money that he knew his parents would have. Against Gabriel's offers and Millie's insistence, Christopher didn't expect Millie to pay for anything, being an ex-goddess and whatnot, but he did expect her to look pretty.

Not that she didn't look pretty to him all the time.

Millie would wear his spare life on her ring finger, which would look perfectly wonderful and he would always be able to account for her location. There would be no more running off from finishing school and rejecting his offer to live on a desert island with him. (Really, who wouldn't want to live in solitude with him? He would always be cleanly and have a witty, original remark prepared for each and every mundane day.)

There would of course be an after party where Christopher would be allowed to drink ample amounts of ale with Conrad, who would have come to visit from Series Seven to act as his best man. (Christopher had always wondered exactly what it was that made a best man, but it seemed like a good description of his solemn friend and he wasn't about to work on starting a new tradition.) But what is most important, there would be a honeymoon after that, which both he and Millie had already decided would be in Venice.

Christopher liked to think that he was looking forward to the honeymoon for obvious reasons. He certainly wasn't going to _tell_ people why.

However, this optimism about his future wedding had proven to be both a blessing and a horrific, milk curdling curse. While he was excited like any good fiancee ought to be, he was also disappointed in the respect that Gabriel had taken it on as his personal mission in life to keep Millie and Christopher from having 'alone time' together. It was as if the old man had finally lifted his nose out of a book long enough to realize that Christopher and Millie had been courting for a while, and that they might actually have physical relations. Well, being the old sod he was (or at least Christopher thought so), Gabriel was making certain that Christopher was too busy with work to even consider going after Millie. Millie also had a collective entourage with her most of the time.

Christopher was at a loss. He was young, he was excited, and he was male. It made for a powerful disadvantage when trying to reason (which was really arguing) his way into the living room where Millie was excitedly pouring over catalogs of wedding supplies.

Another problem was that there were _rules_ and that they came in abundance. Christopher had dealt with more rules than he would ever care to relate in good company, much less add onto them. Unfortunately, things like the seating of family members kept dragging him down. On the bright side of the universe, Christopher was not going to have any in-laws to deal with, which usually included unpleasant aunts in their entourage. If nothing else, he was going to be spared a lecture by a host of women in their late years of life. The only requirement was that the castle staff would act as Millie's family, which meant seating them.

It was Christopher's own family that made him want to cry (again, early, and often). Despite the peace that a trip to Japan and back had afforded the Chant family, Christopher's parents were back into old habits. This could be summarized as the following: indirect communication could sometimes prove burdensome when trying to decide whether or not Christopher's father should be made to sit next to his mother's father. (The answer was no, but it took five lengthy letters and a personal trip to Kyoto to ascertain this information. Millie had insisted.) He also did not have to invite his uncle, which was perfectly fine in his opinion since it saved him a seat in the pews.

Another obnoxious rule that was ruining Christopher's life, day by day, was that pesky idea of complete and utter celibacy during the required waiting period. This was the one that was keeping him from Millie due to Gabriel's meddling. This also made him feel guilty when he took it upon himself to clean house with one. Between rules and guilt, Christopher was positive that he might very well be the most miserable man alive, and Conrad's sporadic and subtle teasing about what dress Millie was going to choose was not helping.

So Christopher, for all of his good traits and excellent sense of self-control (there was laughter somewhere in the universe over this), was unable to keep himself from counting the days. Busy or not, there seemed to be an excess number of hours for him to be busy with and too few for Millie.

Today in particular, a pleasant winter day where the air was quite crisp and all the work was confined to the warm indoors, Christopher felt that he deserved a break, a little time to himself and his future wife. The unfortunate part was that Gabriel was being unreasonable and making him help fill out tax forms on all of the supplies they had bought so far. (It really wasn't unreasonable, but Christopher was in no mood to see reason. He hated reason, was on a one-man campaign against it, and was determined to make it see _his_ reason.

Feeling brave, Christopher finally spoke up.

"Gabriel," he said glibly, which was not at all how he felt, "I would like to use an hour out of this particular day to . . . have afternoon tea with the family." This sounded like an adequate excuse and there was no plausible way for Gabriel to refuse this.

"No," said Gabriel.

So much for irrefutable.

"But why?" he asked. He seemed to be asking that a lot lately. His father always had too, so he wondered if it wasn't just some male husband thing that he ought to grow used to. Christopher certainly hoped not. "I've completed my assignments for the day and I think my input might occasionally be required. I am the bridegroom after all, or did you forget?"

The look that Gabriel gave him made him shudder. "What are you on about?" said Gabriel, leveling him with a piercing glare. Christopher almost reached for another stack of paperwork, so great was his sudden aversion to confrontation. "I've had quite enough of your dithering around, looking for excuses to be off and acting insufferably lovesick, or in worse cases, shirking all of your duties to complete for the wedding."

This Christopher protested to. "I'll have you know that those seating arrangements were completed last night."

"After a month of trying to evade your parents' inquiries about your relatives!" yelled Gabriel. Christopher, however, felt perfectly justified in putting this part off. Obviously, being old and Chrestomanci had made Gabriel forget how horrifying relatives could be.

Just when it seemed that an argument would start off again, and Christopher would likely be sent home as the loser (per usual, as it seemed lately), Millie knocked on the door briefly and stumbled into the room, magazines in hand and a determined look written in stone across her face. She looked positively unshakeable, and for one hopeful moment, Christopher thought that Millie might be able to get him to tea after all.

"Gabriel, I need Christopher for a matter of some urgency," she said, moving toward the oak desk of their guardian with a single-mindedness that Christopher secretly applauded for behind the safety of his pen and papers. He was leveled with another nasty glare.

"Millie," began Gabriel, already pinching the bridge of his nose, "surely the colour of your bridesmaid dresses will not change the fate of mankind. Christopher needs to do work for your wedding as well as the government, and you know that. I can't keep lending him out to people to piss away the afternoon."

Millie looked scandalized. Christopher frowned, feeling like a piece of furniture that was too frequently moved. Gabriel realized his mistake a little too late, beginning to raise a hand to placate the suddenly angry woman before him.

Christopher, feeling nasty, hoped she gave him hell. (He had quite enough of that himself.)

"It's not about wedding dresses!" she said, stamping a foot and fisting her hands next to her hips. The crinkle of paper in her hands gave Christopher a really good idea of how angry she exactly was. He was just glad that wasn't his hand she was crushing. "Besides, he can help me sort out these receipts while I run a few things by him."

Christopher felt whipped. Receipts. Millie had come to take him away to do the exact same mind-numbing thing he had been doing for hours. Now he wasn't so sure he was as keen on going with her if all she wanted was for him to crunch more numbers.

However, Gabriel was looking more convinced than before. Christopher, while not excited by the prospect of more work, decided that he would rather be in the company of Millie and be bored instead of Gabriel's company. (He had long since discovered that if he didn't find one good thing in every bad thing that he would spend a great deal of time being cross, and Christopher was of a better disposition than that. Well, _he_ thought he was of a better disposition, anyway.)

To his delight, he was waved away by one old hand, and looking cross, Gabriel snorted at the pair of them. Christopher was crossing the room before Gabriel even had the opportunity to say anything witty. The sound of the oak doors closing was the most delightful thing he had heard all day.

"Finally!" said Millie, making certain that the doors were closed before lunging in Christopher's direction. While self-preservation said to side step her jump, he knew that she didn't mean any harm in it and let her pull him into a hug that made his lithe frame creak in protest. (Being an ex-goddess and all, he was sure that she didn't know her own strength.) Her face was quite thoroughly pressed into his shoulder, which made him acutely aware of their closeness.

"Yes, and I am as happy to see you as you are to see my arm," he said, pulling a little at her sleeves. "But I shall get jealous if you carry on like that, so let's have a walk and see to those nasty receipts of yours."

Millie snorted in a completely undignified way. He was sorely tempted to say 'bless you' despite knowing he would simply be in trouble for being an arse.

"As if I would call you out to do receipts, which everyone tells me you have been swamped in." She grabbed his hand and began to drag him in the general direction of the library, where she had encamped herself most recently. Several books from the other worlds had caught her eye lately, and her delusions of marital grandeur had been steadily growing. "I have not seen you by myself for weeks, and I intend to change that immediately. Really, you'd think they were all worried that we were going to act indecently."

This sounded strangely like a promise. Christopher derailed this train of thought before it got any worse.

They sat very close together on the velvet sofa next to one of the library windows with Millie pressed up against his side dangerously. Christopher, still believing himself to be the perfect gentleman, attempted to scoot away discreetly. Millie just got closer and rubbed the back of his hand.

"Now here's what I'm thinking since Gabriel and Miss Rosalie seem to be on a mission from God himself to keep us preoccupied. I will start making excuses for you to leave since I get away with it more ease. Gabriel's still soft enough for me to just push in the direction that I want." She continued on like this for some time, and Christopher was beginning to wonder if the paperwork was so horrible after all.

The more that Christopher thought about it (and the more that Millie got closer), the more that Christopher realized that somehow being affianced had made Millie and him transform into the lovesick idiots that Gabriel kept mentioning. While Christopher usually had very good control over his actions, he found himself wanting to be around no one other than Millie, barring perhaps Conrad as a drinking buddy and fellow enchanter-at-arms.

When Millie pointed at something in a picture, he made it a point to nod, not really paying attention at all. If anything, he was paying attention to the fact that no one else was around to stop him and Millie from misbehaving.

Christopher decided that he was feeling absolutely wicked.

"Hey Millie, love," he began, scooting in to the point where Millie's head was on his shoulder and he could feel her thumb across the top of his hand. "Since we don't get to see each other very often, what do you say to me and you sneaking out for a little while? We won't do anything, but I am rather tired of sharing you with grumpy old men and housekeepers. It's cold out, so maybe we can . . . "

He never finished the sentence. Gabriel was standing in front of them looking like death warmed over and then chilled again. Christopher and Millie quickly jumped away from each other as if scalded.

"Aha!" said Gabriel, looking both angry and pleased with himself. (Christopher was still working on mastering the art of multiple manifestations of emotion since it looked like a good skill to have. People not knowing if he were angry or happy somehow struck him as great fun.) "I knew I couldn't trust either of you to behave! Conrad goes home and I go to the office, and what do you do? Plan escape!"

Christopher felt this was a poor interpretation of what was happening and said as much. Gabriel simply gave them a look that suggested that silence was golden.

"From now on, I'm not letting either of you be alone together." Christopher winced and Millie sat up straighter, putting on her best red face of anger and frustration. He could smell the tears already. "Not only is it indecent, but it's giving you both excuses to act like you're on holiday."

While Millie protested, Christopher groaned.

Why couldn't they just get married now? He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to make it all the way to May, much less with an abundance of family visits and business conducted between worlds interrupting life whenever it felt it necessary.

Christopher put on his best attentive face and counted the minutes, wondering how long_ this_ lecture would last.

* * *

To be continued . . .

* * *

A/N: It should pick up speed now. It is unbelievably stress relieving to write these ficlets, as though snark were the key to peace of mind. Christopher certainly seems to think so.


	3. Murphy's Third Law

Title: The Engagement and Subsequent Marriage of Christopher Chant (3 of 12)

Author: tsubaki-hana

Series: Chrestomanci

Rating: K +

Disclaimer: Chrestomanci belongs to Diana Wynne Jones.

Summary: Given fate's sense of humor, Christopher knew that he should not expect perfection out of something as important as a marriage ceremony. It was a pity that he was so intent on it regardless. (Chrestomanci. Twelve ficlets on Murphy's Law. Christopher/Millie.)

* * *

Murphy's Third Law: In any field of endeavor, anything that can go wrong will go wrong.

* * *

If Christopher had to be frank (which was something he preferred anyway to everyone else's disgruntlement), he would have to admit that he loved his parents. It was the child in him, still waiting in the stairwell of his childhood home for his father to come home, that led him to believe this. While his parents did fight considerably more than the average couple, they were still _his_ parents, and that was all that really mattered. He wouldn't trade them in for anything, because it just wouldn't be the same.

That, and he would have a new look if his parents were different. Being rather fond of his frame and face, Christopher thought it best that he kept the ones he had.

He was appreciative of his mother's elegant face being passed down to him, and he was also thankful for his father attaining the position of future Chrestomanci for him. He was happy when he received a relatively peaceful letter from the Japanese countryside on occasion, provided it wasn't filled with his father's faulty horoscopes that generally portended doom for Christopher. He was even happy when his parents decided to poke their long noses around Chrestomanci Castle during the holidays, usually bickering lightly but still pleasant. So yes, he loved his family, no matter if they did pass notes as a form of communication.

However, Christopher did _not_ like it when his parents took it upon themselves to ascertain the "suitability" of his fiancee. It generally complicated things for him.

If the look on Millie's face from across the cucumber sandwiches had anything to say about it, then his fiancee didn't like it much either.

A week or so before, Christopher had received a foreboding message from his parents, something that surely portended doom more aptly than horoscopes. Unfolding it at the supper table that night, he had read aloud to Gabriel, Millie, and the rest of the staff, hoping that they might be able to shed some light on the subject. (What he really had been looking for was for someone to agree to talk with his parents before they did something drastic. Gabriel just smiled pleasantly while Rosalie and Mordecai struggled to contain smirks. He suspected that they were just satisfied that someone else was going through the whole marriage business.)

_Dear Christopher_, it had read in his mother's loopy handwriting. _Your father and I have been talking, and we have decided we should like to visit you and your fiancee before the wedding, just to get comfortable with preparations and all that sort of thing. It would not be fortuitous if we were to find things less than satisfactory in England._

Christopher had glanced up. Mordecai seemed to have found this all perfectly hilarious, even with Rosalie sitting next to him, smiling and kicking him in the leg all at once. Christopher's mouth thinned a little, wishing he was having as good of a time as they obviously were.

_We'll be there in a couple of weeks, so do behave. Tell Millie that I look forward to speaking with her. All of my love._

The letter had been so succinct, had such a glorious absence of his mother's verbal frills that at once Christopher had been filled with dread.

Dread, as it was, manifested in incredibly bitter Ceylon tea and cucumber sandwiches on the back veranda with Millie siting across from him and a parent on either side of them, looking pleased with themselves. Christopher had been very careful to see to lunch going perfectly, and had decided to at least humor his parents by sitting across from Millie. To be truthful, he thought it rather amusing.

Millie did not. Millie twirled her teacup in her hands, looking completely put out with the whole business while his mother related a story about a cousin of his that had recently started courting his cousin Caroline. (Christopher made it a point to look into later. It sounded important and he liked to be caught up on things of that sort.)

The sandwiches also weren't very good. He wasn't sure if this was a sign of things to come, but he certainly hoped not.

"So Christopher, Millie, I hear that you two have been absolute busy bees lately," said Cosimo, looking distinguished in his blue suit. Wealth hadn't been as elusive recently for the Chant family, and it began to show in his father lately. "Is it always like this, or just recently?"

"The castle doesn't have many lulls in activity, especially since no one seems to be able to keep their magic to themselves," said Christopher. "It just seems busier than usual with appointments with caterers and other things of that sort to keep up with."

Miranda laughed, light and airy as a bell. "Well that's simply how it works, Christopher. You never seem to run out of invitations to send out or flowers to keep inventory of. I certainly hope that you're doing well, handling that on top of all your duties as the upcoming Chrestomanci." She gave a sideways glance to Millie and Cosimo, as though expecting them to agree with her. Millie smiled, but it seemed a bit thin.

As much as Christopher loved his mother, he did not care much for her social activities. He felt the beginnings of a subtle verbal trap. This could easily be diffused, he thought, taking a bite of a sandwich. He was rather good at displaying nonchalance if he did say so himself.

"Multitasking is a good skill to have," he said. "Besides, Millie and I share the work equally as Gabriel thought appropriate. We have always worked well together, so there's really nothing of concern to worry about."

Miranda did not look convinced. Oh sure, she looked as beautiful as ever, glowing warmly at her son, but she didn't seem particularly pleased at being redirected. Cosimo appeared to have no complaints, and Christopher could see that Millie favored the side that his father sat on because of it. However, Christopher knew that there was still at least a half an hour left of conversation for afternoon tea, and Miranda was hardly diverted from the subject.

"I have every confidence in you, Christopher dear, and I know that Millie and you get along wonderfully. Just wouldn't you like some more help?" asked Miranda, looking as though she were expecting something. This made Christopher nervous, and Millie even more so.

Christopher was beginning to wonder if he was on the same page as his mother. He was almost certain that this conversation was going to break down into an issue of equality in marriage, but he had expected a snipe in Millie's direction, not an inquiry on getting additional help. Christopher would not lie; he had a difficult time understanding women, and had known it would be so from the first time he had met Millie as the Living Asheth and had given her the Millie books. (Really, he had never gotten emotional over storybooks like Millie did. It was confounding.) This new route his mother was taking left him wondering.

Millie must have seen something that he missed. The look on her face, one of polite hesitance, made Christopher hope that she wouldn't say anything too incriminating.

"Christopher and I will do fine, just as we have been for the past couple of months. It would be an unnecessary expenditure of other people's time to assist in something I am sure that will get done in its own time," said Millie, sipping tea so carefully that Christopher thought she might be afraid that it would burn her.

The look on Cosimo's face was almost identical.

"But Millie, love, you hardly ever see each other during the day," said Miranda. (Christopher mumbled something about it being Gabriel's fault, and coughed politely and said it was nothing when his father told him to speak up.)

"Choosing everything for our wedding myself is very important to me," said Millie with a near religious fervor. "It makes it more meaningful."

His mother nodded, as supportive looking as a person could be. "And you should! Darling, I understand completely, as weddings are special things. You can do that, but wouldn't a little assistance in dealing with business or put in a few suggestions? I should feel much better if you had someone experienced helping you, someone who knew their way around the fashions of Europe."

"Which is obviously you," said Christopher in his sarcastic manner. He didn't mean ill by it, but it ended up being so anyway. Next to him, Cosimo sighed while Miranda looked like the cat that caught the canary.

"Christopher, are you saying that I should help?" asked Miranda, who was likely not really asking at all, but stating it as 'yes, I should help'. Millie looked like the only thing she wanted to do was shout very loudly that no, she did not want help and that her in-laws were not welcome to do so. "I would be honored, if Millie would have me."

Christopher felt like something inside him was coiling, waiting to strike. Either answer that Millie could give now could be horrific. If she said no, his parents would be offended and probably give him grief for the greater part of their lives. Even worse, if she said yes, then his parents would be camping out in Chrestomanci Castle until the wedding, which meant at least three more months of his mother and his father. This also meant that Millie would feel obligated to let his mother help instead of letting Millie have free reign over something that was really meant for the bride.

He wasn't sure how much worse it could get, but he wasn't going to bring it up. Instead he sipped his tea, wincing at the bitter taste. It figured that would be bad as well.

Millie sighed, gave a beseeching look to the heavens, and finally said, "All right."

Miranda was all smiles and Cosimo looked relieved, as though afraid of the storm that rejection would cause. (There would have been a storm, thought Christopher, a very real storm that would have made the weather unpleasant.) As Christopher was forced to remind himself for a third time that day, he really did love his parents. He didn't like them, which was something entirely different, but he still loved them.

Between lunch going wrong, Millie being made to deal with his mother, and his parents actually _living in close quarters_ for the next few months, Christopher was positive that somewhere in the universe was either a powerful enchanter or a very small god that he must have offended. Nothing else could explain his abysmal luck. (This was probably true, on several worlds and in several different degrees of offense. It turned out that sarcasm wasn't well received by most overlords and magical vagabonds.)

"I will have to get to the bottom of this, or at least stop it from getting any worse," he muttered to himself, watching his mother start pointing out dresses that she either loved or hated in Millie's catalogue. "I sacrificed my witty proposal and free time for this, and by God, it's going to be the perfect wedding just like Millie and I want." To this, he tipped his cup back and polished off the poor Ceylon with a shudder and a timed smile at his mother's suggestions.

What Christopher didn't realize is that Fate does so love a good challenge.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

A/N: So yes, for the first two chapters, Christopher was a bit out of character. It was intentional though, and now Christopher's going to be more in his medium; in control, and if not, pretending that he might be anyway.

Thanks for the concrit, Kinetic Asparagus! It was much appreciated.


	4. Murphy's Fourth Law

Title: The Engagement and Subsequent Marriage of Christopher Chant (4 of 12)

Author: tsubaki-hana

Series: Chrestomanci

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Chrestomanci belongs to Diana Wynne Jones.

Summary: Given fate's sense of humor, Christopher knew that he should not expect perfection out of something as important as a marriage ceremony. It was a pity that he was so intent on it regardless. (Chrestomanci. Twelve ficlets on Murphy's Law. Christopher/Millie.)

* * *

Murphy's Fourth Law: If there is a possibility that several things can go wrong, then the one that will cause the greatest damage will be the one to go wrong.

* * *

As a man of a mild disposition, Christopher did not like to be angry with people. In general, Christopher was not quick to laugh (out loud) but certainly was slow to anger. When dealing with unreasonable people, he had found it to be helpful considering most of the selfsame people were not receptive to fiery vengeance and negative criticism, which really was a shame, seeing as he thought more than half of them could use some.

He wasn't sure what it was about Series Seven that filled him with such dislike, but he suspected that it had something to do with the snobbish upper class that he had more than enough of after working at Stallery Mansion. That, and silver. He had hoped that between the last time he had been there and the possible next, silver would have gone out of fashion and everyone would have adopted gold as the new dinnerware of choice. This was not to be. If anything, everything now incorporated silver in some respect, including the fabric of the lady sitting next to him. ( She had been quite insistent on sitting next to him, calling him a "young, hot thing," whatever that happened to mean. It made him feel rather uncomfortable in any case.) If Gabriel hadn't been on his other side and doing most of the talking (and adding at random intervals that Christopher was engaged), Christopher was fairly certain that he would have vomited or passed out from lack of oxygen.

His mood was not improving with the progression of this call for the Chrestomanci. Christopher knew that he would eventually have to take over the whole affair, but for now he was torn between thankfulness and repulsion for Gabriel insisting on taking him everywhere. At this point, focusing very hard on the Turkish rug in front of him, Christopher had worked out a list of reasons for this, varying from little things like preferring the smell of the dirt in Series Twelve to very big things like the fact that Bad Things Were Happening while he was away.

By Bad Things, Christopher of course meant that Millie and his mother were currently in London, shopping for a wedding dress. At first glance, it was difficult to see why this would fall under the category of Bad Things. Christopher, however, had seen a lot in the last couple of weeks, and he knew that very little good could come of the trip (for him at least. Millie was very good at keeping calm around his mother and then taking it out on him later on in the form of the silent treatment.)

Millie had been stressed lately, which in turn meant that Christopher had to be stressed too. There was obviously nothing better for him to do, or so said his bride to be. He complied, if only to maintain the peace between his forceful mother and Millie's insistence on having the wedding go her way. Unfortunately, this also meant that he was generally put upon by both women.

"Christopher, you really must spend more time with us on this," his mother would say, waving a fan in his face while they sat for a brief afternoon tea. "I've had some ideas, and I would like for you to tell us what you think."

"Christopher, love, I really don't want to make any commitments until I have your opinion," Millie would say, smoothing out the tablecloth when there were no wrinkles in it whatsoever. "I trust you'll choose something that benefits both of **us**."

It was a cold war. Christopher had become a device for Millie to keep his mother from making final decisions, and in turn his mother was using him as backup for her ideas. It was horrifying because he knew that there was no way for him to answer either one of them truthfully without upsetting somebody. It was quite possibly the most awkward situation he had been in for quite a while, and his father was not making any moves to help him.

There had been but one way to remedy this situation. He had taken to working on his Chrestomanci duties with a fervor that set Gabriel on edge and Mordecai chuckling at his expense. If he couldn't confront either woman, he would simply have to find some reason to never be present. Saving universes seemed like an excuse that both of the ladies in his life would be able to understand.

Now if only they would stop getting him after hours, Christopher thought morosely.

So yes, there were a number of things that could go wrong while Millie and his mother went shopping. He was afraid of every last one of them and what they would portend for his future. He was beginning to suspect his father wasn't so far off with those unpleasant horoscopes.

Feeling another roiling wave of nausea, Christopher was brought back to the reality of sitting in a parlor room with Gabriel, trying very hard not to bring his cereal back up on the lady of the house's shoes. Things were concluding pretty cleanly, and Christopher dared to hope he would be escaping the silver soon enough. With a passing glance at a mirror on the wall, he found that he was not only looking a little green, but a little violet, blue, and orange as well, just for good measure. (He had not yet discovered how that many shades were possible in one face, but he imagined it was probably still a very pale reflection of how he felt in full color.)

"Christopher," he heard, and being half delirious, hoped that it wasn't his mother or Millie just yet. To his relief, it was just Gabriel shaking his shoulder and giving him a shrewd but pitying look. "Christopher, we can go back now. You look as though you could use some strong tea and an aspirin."

"Strong tea and aspirin are likely not enough," he muttered, straightening out his silk cravat. "You could just take me out in the gardens and bludgeon me with a cricket bat and I'm certain you'd get a similar effect."

Gabriel smiled, hawkish but amused all the same. "No more knocking your brains out, thank you. You've already used a life on that. You can go and take a regular nap just like the rest of us."

Christopher groaned. A regular nap would never be enough to shake the weariness from him and keep the wedding planners at bay. "But you don't understand! Being asleep and being knocked unconscious are two very different things. You don't nag at the person whose unconscious like you nag at the person who's just taking a light nap."

Gabriel smiled, walking them out to the paved driveway of the stately house. "Now, now, I'm sure that Miranda and Millie can be reasonable about a request like that. All I have to tell them is that you're feeling ill and that you don't feel up to their usual exploits this afternoon."

Christopher began to draw the seals for them to leave. "I don't believe you. I don't believe _them_. I am positive that they will find some crisis with which to force my hand in picking the color of the candles or some such nonsense . . . But I would appreciate the effort," he added, looking at Gabriel slyly. Gabriel simply nodded, and Christopher smiled, almost giddy with relief.

Feeling the pull of magic drawing him back into their home world, Christopher allowed himself a moment to have delusions of restful grandeur. In that moment, nothing sounded better than a sofa sitting in the afternoon light, a pot of darjeeling tea, and Millie holding his head, not a magazine or mother in sight. Christopher was so taken with this image that he felt his nausea slip away on a wave of relief.

And then chaos happened.

Christopher was not sure what had started the madness that he and Gabriel had descended on, but Christopher knew for a fact that an abundance of ungodly lilac and mustard coloured fabric had not been in the drawing room before he had left. There were boxes and bolts of it, with housekeeping staff staring at it, looking torn between disgust and being put upon. Christopher couldn't say that he blamed them. As a person with impeccable taste in clothing and colour, Christopher knew that the fabric was horrific to look at, offending his British sensibilities of style. As a matter of fact, whoever had coordinated the two colors ought to be shot for crimes against humanity. He briefly wondered if the jurisdiction of Chrestomanci could apply here.

"Christopher!" said his mother, coming to hug him, just as happy as she could be.

...He supposed crimes against humanity didn't really apply to mothers ( or so he hoped, as the present Chrestomanci, Gabriel, was looking at Miranda Chant like she had shot the Queen of England.)

"Oh Christopher, what do you think?" said Miranda, holding up the fabric, looking very excited. "It's all the rage in France right now, especially for upperclass ladies! I saw it in a boutique while we were dress shopping, and I thought I might buy it for Millie as a surprise. It's going to be for the bridesmaids and your vest!"

Christopher looked at the clock on the wall, ticking noisily. It had taken Miranda all of thirty seconds to ruin what was the beginnings of a good mood and relaxing afternoon. He wasn't sure whether to reward her or throttle his mother. And then a second thought came unbidden to him: what would Millie think of this colossal mess? He was suddenly enveloped in a foreboding worry.

Stepping over toward the . . . whatever you called that fabric, he lifted it with one booted foot, not yet bold enough to touch it. The mere idea of being made to wear it filled him with something resembling shame, as it would be a mark on his record of perfect outfitting. It didn't look like it would match a single thing in his wardrobe. Feeling dour, he wondered if the maker of this fabric had been drinking absinthe. He was certain that if he drank some himself, he might be able to make better sense of the reason _why_ this miserable color scheme had been birthed.

"Mother . . . **why** would you choose something for the bridesmaids dresses without Millie's consent? I mean, what if it isn't . . . exactly what she was looking for? What if she had something already in mind? How much did this _cost_?" he asked, steadily feeling his panic rise even while looking as cool as a cucumber. Crisp as lettuce.

He was a veritable salad.

For some reason, this path of thought was not making him feel any better about himself. He had to find a reason to make his mother send this back. He had to do it without hurting anyone's feelings. He had to do it quickly, before Millie saw it and became irate. He was beginning to think it couldn't be done.

"Don't you like it Christopher?" asked his mother, looking at him with shrewd but smiling eyes. He was beginning to feel the snares of another verbal trap. He was getting sick of stepping on these, intentionally or otherwise. Christopher was of a mind that he ought to be able to speak without fear of getting entangled in unpleasant business that would always point back to him as the perpetrator, even when he had been tricked into it. As a matter of fact, everything that went wrong with preparations always seemed to be his fault, even if they weren't.

Christopher suddenly had a feeling of approaching doom. (Approaching doom, he had learned, usually meant that Bad Things were about to become worse, evolving into something that he had accurately termed as the Worst Case Scenario, something that had only before lived in legend.)

"Well mother, it certainly is . . . interesting," he said, choosing his words carefully.

Miranda smiled. "Don't you think it's wonderful?"

"Uhh . . . " he said intelligently. He definitely was not on his top game today. "Nice. Yes, it's nice. Definitely not what I would have chosen, but nice. Don't you think we can just get a sample piece of it to show to Millie, you know, just to make sure?"

His mother had _that look_ again. A look like the one that she gave him after his blunder about her helping Millie out with wedding plans. Christopher absently wondered where a good cricket bat or faulty tower was when he needed one.

"Millie!" his mother called. Christopher bit back a groan of dismay. Now he had done it. He had lied and said "it was nice" and now it was going to come back and get him. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps the secret to all his bad luck was that Conrad had shoved his karma off on someone else for a little while, and it had attached itself to Christopher.

Millie entered the room, still dressed in her shopping clothes and looking irritable, one boot half unlaced and the other one in her hand. "Yes, Mrs. Chant?" she asked pleasantly, looking as though she would very much like to throw the boot in her hand at someone. (Christopher sincerely hoped that it wouldn't be him.)

It was then that Millie saw the fabric and turned white as cream. "What is that?" she asked in a manner that exuded fear and rising anger.

"Why Millie darling, it's the bridesmaid dress material. Isn't it marvelous?" asked his mother. Christopher, feeling the nausea from being near silver rising again, just hoped that Millie would make their deaths swift. "Christopher said that it was nice!"

Christopher groaned again, feeling martyred.

Millie gave him a look that could only be described as one of betrayal. "You _like_ this, Christopher?" she asked in a tone that would not be unlike the way the villagers would have asked Belle "you married a _what_?" Millie proceeded to look at him like he was a walking embodiment of the black plague. This did not raise Christopher's spirits at all.

"She's deliberately misconstruing what I'm saying!" he said, nearly jumping up and down in his frustration. He would _not_ allow himself to be blamed for this fabric monstrosity. He was out of town. He was out of the galaxy. He felt he did not deserve this assault so soon after sitting next to a woman covered from head to toe in silver. He said as much.

This was a Bad Thing gone worse.

"Why were you sitting next to any woman at all?" asked Millie, looking as though there would be unhappy times in store for him, and very soon. Christopher gave a beseeching look to Gabriel. Gabriel, in the corners of the room, just smiled. Christopher had a sneaking suspicion that the old man was laughing at him.

"I wasn't. Well, I was. That was a business matter that I'm certain Gabriel could properly explain as he was sitting there with me the entire time, but . . . that's not what this is about. I am being misrepresented on so many levels that I am unsure how to cope with this. I said the fabric was nice. I didn't say that it was the stuff of kings or weddings."He declared, feeling thoroughly put out with everyone. All he really wanted was a little rest and for people to understand. This was not to be. Everyone was being unreasonable, and while Christopher was adept at dealing with such people, he really didn't want to deal with it in his own home.

His mother patted him on the shoulder. "Of course dear, we understand that you're tired. We have your approval on something now, so you just go on upstairs and have a good nap before supper." She smiled at Millie. Millie smiled, but it promised violence. Christopher grimaced and wanted to send everyone to different sides of the planet or blow something up. (He was not very often inclined toward this feeling, as he considered himself a gentleman, but he did so love those breaking noises when he was feeling vexed.)

"Look, let's just get this sorted out," he said in his most authoritative voice, startling just about everyone in the room. Even Old Gabriel looked a bit alarmed. "**Don't** insist on having my word on everything. I want Millie to have what she wants, and while my opinion is apparently appreciated, it is also unnecessary. From now on, I will have . . . " he looked around the room, and seeing that Elizabeth had walked in, looking pale and confused at the commotion, declared, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth will be my proxy while I get some work done. Elizabeth," he said, turning to face a fellow affianced who was looking very lost, "let Millie have what she wants. I trust your judgement. If it's really important, you all know where to find me."

He stalked out of the room, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Later on that night, Millie came up stairs, he was found sitting on a velvet chair, staring at the ceiling and drinking tea. She sat down next to him, with no magazine in hand or mother in tow. Christopher opened one eye at her, nose still pinched between his fingers while he nursed a wicked headache. (He had never figured out why pinching the bridge of his nose helped get rid of headaches. It always seemed to just focus the pain on one particular spot, but this did not stop him at all. On the contrary, he was pleased he had something to properly focus on.)

"Poor baby," she laughed, pulling up closer and pushing a piece of his stray black hair away from his face. "I'm sorry things went so dreadfully for you today. Gabriel told me about the silver and the lady from Series Seven." She rubbed her hands together, a sign that Christopher took to mean that she was uncomfortable. "And I'm sorry I overreacted."

Christopher waved a hand dismissively. He had quite enough of emotional ups and downs today, and he was just glad that there was no future wife wielding a magazine in his face. "Think nothing of it, Millie," he said airily. "I'm sorry I've been unhelpful." He took another long drought of tea, savoring the momentary peace, and Millie's hand in his hair. _This_ was all he had wanted out of the day, and even if it was late in coming, he was glad to have a moment of respite.

"Elizabeth was confused for a little while, but she caught on when Gabriel explained to her what had been going on all day. She's rather excited since her wedding is a bit further off than ours. She said it would be good practice," said Millie, toeing his shoe and chuckling. "You should have given her a bit more warning though."

Christopher sighed, content for the moment. Thinking of Elizabeth, he was relatively certain that he had finally found a stabilizing force in the preparations for the wedding, someone with veto power against his mother and got along well with Millie. Surely, he thought, surely things will begin to look better now, despite all of the horrible things thus far.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

A/N: Things get better? When we still have a whole 8 more laws to cover? Of course not. Thank you all for the wonderful praise and criticism respectively! It certainly is a pick-me-up after a day of working.


	5. Murphy's Fifth Law

Title: The Engagement and Subsequent Marriage of Christopher Chant (5 of 12)

Author: tsubaki-hana

Series: Chrestomanci

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Chrestomanci belongs to Diana Wynne Jones.

Summary: Given fate's sense of humor, Christopher knew that he should not expect perfection out of something as important as a marriage ceremony. It was a pity that he was so intent on it regardless. (Chrestomanci. Twelve ficlets on Murphy's Law. Christopher/Millie.)

* * *

Murphy's Fifth Law: If anything absolutely can NOT go wrong, it will anyway.

* * *

Christopher had never been so pleased with himself as when he had appointed Elizabeth as Millie's new assistant. (This was of course not including a number of times that he had brought victory for the Chrestomanci Castle cricket team, since nothing could quite compare with his delight at those moments. He couldn't possibly tell Millie that; it was a matter that couldn't possibly be explained to a 'nonbeliever.') Not only had Elizabeth set straight to work trying to appropriate everything necessary for the wedding, but best of all, Elizabeth was not colour-blind and as such, was a bit more careful about choosing colours.

"I don't know where your mother got this," Elizabeth had said, holding the lilac and mustard fabric with careful hands, "but it was obviously from the underworld. It costs a pretty penny for it, so I'll just have to talk that textile dealer in France into giving us a refund."

If Antonio Montana and Millie wouldn't have killed him for it, he would have kissed Elizabeth for being able to talk reason into the universe. Fortunately, Christopher was still in possession of some of his wits, no matter how hard everyone was trying to rid him of them. He instead opted to try and find Antonio and Elizabeth a glorious wedding present for their wedding next summer. Not only was it practical, but it kept him from meeting a cricket bat, face to wood.

Elizabeth, in addition to putting a stop to his mother's machinations, had somehow found a way to get the three of them to get along splendidly. At first glance at this phenomenon, Christopher and Cosimo Chant had rapidly left the room, afraid that breathing would somehow knock the planets out of alignment. They didn't want to do _anything_ that would somehow destroy this fragile peace. As such, Christopher found himself throwing himself even more into his Chrestomanci duties, only occasionally dropping in to see if Millie, Elizabeth, and his mother had killed each other off yet. He figured it could only be a matter of time before someone set one of the three off.

In short, Christopher was of the mind that there was absolutely nothing that could happen of poor consequence between his mother and Millie.

"I don't trust this silence," said Jason, tall and miserable looking in his suit, waiting out a drizzle in the castle instead of outside tending to his plants. "I especially don't trust the silence to last, and when it finally does break, I would very much like to be elsewhere."

Christopher glanced over, favouring Jason with an amused glance. "I don't think a single one of us wants to be nearby when that happens. As a matter of fact, if divination spells were worth the paper it takes for me to write them on, I would try to have a look-see and make plans to be out of the country when it finally does happen."

Jason scowled. "That's hardly fair," he said, looking thoroughly cheesed off. "You're able to leave the series in its entirety, much less just leave England. That's not even considering the fact that if you went skiving off from your marital duties, those women would have a real reason to shed blood and tears," Jason sighed, looking dismal and lonely without the company of his trowel and apron. He raked a hand through his pale hair. "Have a care for the rest of us, would you? I'd like to live long enough to get that mandrake root growing."

Christopher smiled, wishing it wasn't true. There was nothing he wanted to do more than just step across the threshold of the garden's ancient arches and end up in a different part of the series. He was getting to be fond of the idea of indoor air conditioning in World B and could stand for a little rest and relaxation in the Americas. (Secretly, he suspected that this was where Gabriel had gone instead of on an official Chrestomanci order. After all, Christopher was supposed to go on those trips too, and Gabriel had not even deemed it necessary to tell him exactly how long that he would be gone. Christopher imagined his teacher wearing Bermuda shorts in the Bahamas, and was suddenly overcome with resentment.)

"Of course, Jason, and that mandrake isn't going to grow no matter how much fertilizer and magic you put in that thing. Gabriel said that the bulb's likely dead since they left it in the storehouse for longer than even _he_ can remember, and that's definitely saying something."

The two sat in companionable stillness, watching the water slide down the windowpanes. Everything looked quite wonderful outside, barring the cold drizzle, and Christopher hoped that it might stop raining long enough for him to nick Millie for a walk outside, just to talk about nothing. (He didn't want to get into specific topics, since those always seemed to get back to the one thing he was trying to remain disentangled with. Feigned ignorance was key.)

Feeling considerably light-hearted, Christopher snapped to his feet, liking the sound of his heels on the hardwood floors. Jason gave him a quizzical look, but said nothing, continuing to scribble names onto a chart in his illegible writing. Christopher took this as a cue to stroll out of the room and away from the greenhouse inventory list that they had spent the greater part of the afternoon running over. Christopher could claim to regret seeing it go, as he had quite enough of numbers to last him a lifetime.

For a long time since his last run in with Millie in the library, Christopher had made it a point to avoid it unless it was for business. He had a sneaking suspicion that Gabriel knew when he was not where he was supposed to be, even when Christopher wasn't sure what that implied. There must have been some unspoken rule that the master of the castle knew exactly who was where and which ones had free time. There must have also been an unspoken rule that if you had free time, it was to be surrendered upon discovery to Gabriel to be put to better use.

Luckily for Christopher, Gabriel was not there, likely hiding in the Bahamas, and therefore he did not feel obligated to behave for the moment.

The library was not its usual quiet self, instead echoing with peals of feminine laughter. Quite suddenly, Christopher felt as though he might just want to turn around and leave things as they were, before he did something abysmally stupid. Somehow when you were the only man amongst a group of women, you were either dashing or a fool, often both if what Millie told him were true.

"Christopher!" shouted Millie, waving from the round table that was completely covered in paper, receipts, and pictures. There were also several sample dishes and fabric swatches. "Have you come to override Elizabeth, or is it just out of general curiosity?"

"I have no idea to override Elizabeth at all," said Christopher, grimacing. "She's done such a splendid job over the last week that I would be an idiot to undo her progress. Rather, I should like to think I came up here in a fit of whimsy, wondering if I could borrow you for half an hour or so."

Millie smiled, and while her face was heavily freckled and rounder than the standard of beauty demanded, Christopher was still certain that she was the only woman that he would ever consider his own. It was a familiar and comforting face, one that he had grown used to and one that he knew that he would be happy to see every day for the rest of his natural life. Being the man he was, he never bothered telling her this himself, but Christopher knew that she knew.

Shaking himself out of his romantic notions, Christopher strode forward to stand next to Millie, hovering over what new matter that they were discussing now. "I wonder what you're on about now," he said, picking up one of Millie's notes. "Tea cups? Are you serious? We need more tea cups? What happened to the good china that the castle has?"

Elizabeth sighed, shaking her blonde locks wearily. "And there you have it, Millie. The male mentality. If you already have something, it should do just fine for the rest of your life. Antonio is like that when I talk about our own plans. He wants everything _just_ like they would do it in Casa Montana."

At Christopher's bewildered look, Millie laughed loudly. "One is good enough? In Christopher's case? I have never seen a man with more clothes in my entire life. I think you'll have to rethink your theory." Millie then pulled at Christopher's hand, which he gladly relinquished, liking the feel of her fingers entwining with his. (Christopher was forced to think of something else before he became a lovesick sod again and said something incriminating.)

"True, but Christopher is a bit of an anomaly," said Elizabeth. "All the others are like that."

"Of course," he said. "You can't compare a common kettle with a Royal Dalton teapot."

They all laughed, but Christopher did not, at least not near as much as they did. He was serious. (Sort of.)

Everyone in the room was smiling, chatting back and forth for a great deal of time. Christopher had never had so many final decisions passed by him in his entire life. It was as though he were having his whole wedding laid out before him, ready and intact. It was a complete turn around from the mess from just a few weeks before. He would admit, however, that the only thing he paid too much attention to was their clothing ideas, of which it had been decided that Christopher would wear black velvet and cream satin. He approved heartily, but passed his judgement in his most blase manner. If nothing else, he kept his passion for good clothes as hidden as possible but _ever present_.

It was well over an hour before Christopher realized that it had stopped raining, and that his time to walk with Millie was swiftly slipping from his grasp. Gabriel would be back home soon, and when that time came, Christopher would be made to sit up and go over some magical theory with his teacher, followed by dinner and his immediate exile from all things Millie. (This was his mother's idea, trying to 'preserve both his and Millie's integrity.' Millie had not listened to a word that his mother had to say after that, opting to believe that silence was golden and acting as the only thing between Miranda Chant and being held by her toes over a pot of boiling oil. Millie could be so over dramatic when vexed.)

"Ladies, with all due respect, my original intent was to appear and thieve Millie before Gabriel returns and the rain begins to start making a fuss again. It appears you have all distracted me for quite some time." He glanced at the grandfather clock, clicking in time to his breathing. It was just about time for supper, and it was beginning to look as though the sky were darkening. Christopher quickly cursed England and its bloody weather.

"Christopher, it'll rain on us, and then we'll catch cold." Millie was the picture of resolute female. Well that was okay, she could just be that way, because Christopher was the picture of obstinate male.

"No, it won't, and it's not even cold outside, only very damp," he said, in what he considered to be a very reasonable tone. It was her fault that it was this late anyway, even if he really did enjoy just looking over things with a small horde of women telling him what he was going to be paying for. What mattered was that he did not like to be thwarted. This conversation was taking the direction of his offer of the desert island paradise all over again, and Millie was giving similar excuses, only then it had been about getting sand in everything and how she wasn't sure if human beings could live off of tropical fruit alone. Christopher knew that he had a mind for grandiose things in his youth, but he rather thought that he had toned it down to a reasonable level.

Millie did not look convinced. "I'll ruin my dress. I'm sure it's muddy outside and I don't want to get my white blouse dirty and don't you _dare_ tell me that you don't care about clothes." She folded her arms at this, looking at him in what he would describe as a suspicious, penetrating glare. "Really Christopher, there's still a lot that Miranda and Elizabeth can get done with me here."

While Christopher was able to concede that there was in fact a lot of work left to be done, he was still not ready to back down. (Christopher was not opposed to Millie getting her white dress wet for entirely different reasons than she had.) He wasn't entirely sure when he had become the bad guy, but it had obviously happened if Millie's expression had something to say about it.

"Go on and do what you're supposed to, Christopher," said Elizabeth, smiling and waving a hand at him. "We all know about poor Jason downstairs with the inventory list, so go help him before Gabriel gets back."

"They're right, Christopher," said his mother, looking at him in what resembled maternal chastisement. (He couldn't recall a time that he had ever been properly chastised by his mother in any capacity other than when she didn't get her way.) "Be a good boy, and run along. No one should shirk their work, least of all now."

Christopher felt his jaw pop at being called a mere 'boy'. He was 20 years old, past his majority and surely an adult. He would not let these women treat him like a child. His pride was considerable in size, and would not be able to tolerate it. What he was still trying to figure out was how their perfectly pleasant comradery had suddenly come forth to bash him over the head. It was hardly fair.

"Now see here, Jason was nice enough to let me off the hook to be able to come and see you," said Christopher, trying very hard to not be a smart-arse. The problem with that was that he had a natural inclination towards smart-arsery, an additional feature to his biting sarcasm. No matter what he did, he knew that somehow he would say something in his 'superior tone' to set somebody off.

"Well, go be a good friend and rescue him from it," said Elizabeth, flipping through papers without even sparing him a glance. "You retired your privileges as wedding planner to me, and Millie, Miranda, and I all believe we need to keep working."

Elizabeth had been an excellent choice as Millie's assistant. She was able to tell his mother off. What he hadn't realized was that she would be able to tell him off just as well. Christopher felt betrayed by his own superior mind. When he thought he had everything set aright, he suddenly realized the loophole in his plan and was regretting it.

"Have a good time with those plants, Christopher," said Miranda, effectively dismissing him. Christopher offered his best vague smile, cursing his self-confidence for being abysmally optimistic in nature. Apparently, choosing one person at random wasn't exactly a magnificent way to ensure peace _and_ cooperation.

Three hands waved him off, though Millie was obviously laughing at him. Fortunately, he was good-natured enough to brush it off. He opted for clicking his heels back towards the door, looking as stately as the King of England in his domain. He would not leave this room defeated; he would only be cast away for a time.

It was time to go back to the drawing board. He couldn't have Elizabeth completely usurping his authority. It would be troublesome. This time, he would call on Conrad to help. Conrad always seemed to have lots of sensible ideas.

* * *

A/N: Not particularly eventful, but now that I've only got seven chapters left to wreak havoc on the wedding, I'm sure it will all be much more fast-paced.

Sorry for the delay! I usually try to update once a week, but I was hit in the head with midterms. And again, thank you for the feedback! Feel free to correct me where I'm wrong. I'd rather be told to fix something rather than leave it running loose.


	6. Murphy's Sixth Law

Title: The Engagement and Subsequent Marriage of Christopher Chant (6 of 12)

Author: tsubaki-hana

Series: Chrestomanci

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Chrestomanci belongs to Diana Wynne Jones.

Summary: Given fate's sense of humor, Christopher knew that he should not expect perfection out of something as important as a marriage ceremony. It was a pity that he was so intent on it regardless. (Chrestomanci. Twelve ficlets on Murphy's Law. Christopher/Millie.)

* * *

Murphy's Sixth Law: If you perceive that there are four possible ways in which a procedure can go wrong and circumvent these, then a fifth way, unprepared for, will promptly develop.

* * *

Christopher had been dreading the day that Millie would finally have to choose who was to be her maid of honour. The reason for this was as simple as could be; there could only be **one** maid of honour, and a few someones weren't going to be bestowed the position.

At first glance, this was not so bad. After all, most of the girls at the castle were reasonable, practical, and overall pleasant. However, logical minds had a habit of coming to logical conclusions that ended in their favour. In a phrase, they could never be wrong, and God forbid that you tell them otherwise. Christopher, interested in the concept of self-preservation (even if only a little bit), certainly wasn't going to disagree with them.

The problem mostly lay in the two girls that were closest to Millie in the castle at present, they being Henrietta and Elizabeth, who were both quite set on having things done their way. Henrietta, as the most senior of Millie's friends, figured that their long-lasting friendship would guarantee her position at the bride's side. However, Elizabeth, being the assistant wedding planner, was certain that Millie owed the maid of honour title to her for keeping Miranda Chant from destroying– Christopher cleared his throat – assisting in the wedding plans.

It hadn't been an issue at first, just a subtle running undercurrent that left the two of them dropping remarks about the topic to Millie every once in a while. Millie didn't pick up on them, but Christopher did. At first it was amusing. Then, after their first battle with no actual slings and arrows over a bowl of porridge, it was irritating. After that, in a brief spat over the mysterious disappearance of one of Henrietta's socks, Christopher felt that his hand would be forced before long. (Really, it was a ridiculous argument. _Everyone_ loses their matching socks, and they disappear with no regard for rank or personal feelings; both of these were a problem for Christopher since he was possibly the strongest enchanter in the castle and was also emotionally attached to his stockings. Stallery had put a fear of runs in his leggings into him. Even the strongest finding spells did not return socks to him, so he had figured that it was some sort of universal rule that lost socks were gone forever and that this rule could not be broken, even by a nine-lived enchanter. Coming to this conclusion had led to an evening of skulking about, depressed, and his subsequent decision to tie his socks together, just in case the one would be able to keep the other from disappearing into that nameless void made for undergarments and footwear.)

While this ought to have been Millie's problem, and not his own, Christopher felt it was his duty to keep Millie from any sort of grief that might come from this. While he certainly couldn't usurp Elizabeth just yet, as he still had a day until Conrad would be there to assist him in the overthrowing of the system, Christopher _could_ place a verbal buffer between Henrietta, Elizabeth, and Millie. (Conrad had not seen the plan as a coup d'etat so much as a subtle shift of power. Christopher, prone to theatrics, would hear nothing of it and insisted it would put the French Revolution and Oliver Cromwell to shame.)

Feeling like a martyr, Christopher thought fondly of how nice Millie would be to him if she knew what he was about to do.

He had thought out every conceivable approach to the situation. He had considered trying to corner the girls individually and speak his mind, but had come to the conclusion that they would think that they weren't being treated equally somehow. Henrietta, wonderful girl that she was, would probably assume that he had not spoken to Elizabeth at all on the matter and fall into one of her sulks. As a girl of a freckled complexion and flaming red hair, Christopher had found that crying did not suit her at all, especially since she would scrunch up her face in what looked like a marvellous imitation of a bridge troll.

Christopher, being a gentleman, tended to keep this opinion to himself.

His second thought had been to just tell them both, loudly and with great satisfaction, that they would make Millie unhappy if they didn't stop their insistence on being the maid of honour. This was dismissed quickly, since this would probably get back to Millie and he would be in trouble for being a meddler. While he did like to meddle, he certainly thought it unsporting for someone to call him out on it.

The third, most satisfying answer to the quandary before him was to simply grab their heads at supper and bash them together, letting the resulting headaches and concussions do all the talking for him. (He had seen this happen, but to various degrees of success, most upstanding of which being the day that he got into an argument with Jason and Gabriel had quite enough of it. Once he had been coherent enough to stop cursing at his teacher, he had seen the genius in the tactic.) This, however, was apparently not acceptable coming from a friend and male of the species, and therefore thrown out of his mental committee before he could grow fond of it.

Pity. He would have felt a lot better about the whole ordeal.

In the end, he had decided to calmly discuss with Henrietta and Elizabeth about the pressure of preparing the wedding, and that Millie would probably choose someone to be her maid of honour based off of who would be able to act responsibly and continue to be of use as a host and have no other obligations at the time. Hopefully, the prospect of working would turn them away from their single-minded pursuit of a title like it did for him. Not that he wanted to be the maid of honour. That would be silly since he was the groom, though he supposed that if Millie was hard-pressed to decide he could be both groom and maid of honour, even if it did offend his masculine sensibilities.

No, scratch that, he thought. Christopher definitely did not want maid attached to his name in any capacity at all. (That would be reliving an experience from Series Two that he did not want to ever relive, no matter how much Gabriel, Mordecai, and Jason prodded at him in jest to tell. There were just some things that were meant to be forgotten, even if they did entertain people at his expense.)

Getting back to semi-reality, Christopher headed down into the small drawing room, where Elizabeth and Henrietta were looking at each other menacingly, poorly disguising it with almanacs drawn up into their faces, attempting to be incredibly interested in the Ladies Home Journal. To his amusement, Elizabeth even took notes on the event planning pages.

"Ahem," he muttered, moving to sit on one of the velvet chairs, facing the other two girls. They looked up at him, as though offended by his presence. Christopher wondered why women were such unreasonable creatures and what had possessed him to marry one of their kind. Fortunately, Millie was reasonable and not one for the epic tiffs that women always seemed to have with one another.

Evidence of his sanity having been found, Christopher looked up at Elizabeth and Henrietta again.

"Ladies," he began, " it has come to my attention that the two of you are of the belief that Millie should have to choose her maid of honour, and that both of you seem to think that you deserve the position, no questions asked."

The two of them had the nerve to look indignant. Christopher smiled.

"That is the most tactless thing that you have ever said to us, Christopher!" said Henrietta, squawking.

Elizabeth nodded her head fervently. "Christopher, you know perfectly well that Millie gets things done in her own time, and that even if I am helping, I am not hurrying any decisions on her part," she said, pushing blonde hair past her shoulder. Christopher rolled his eyes when Henrietta gave her a cross look, and prayed for strength.

"I am not saying that either of you are being hasty in thinking that Millie ought to choose a maid of honour, but I am saying that there's a tension between the two of you that is beginning to show and that it make the rest of us nervous," he said as calmly as he could, recalling all of his diplomacy tactics. He rather felt that he was going to be negotiating the union of France and England instead of the temporary peace between two headstrong women. It did not make him feel particularly happy. To be brutally frank with himself, he would have preferred to have a hammer rammed up his nose and then jerked out the other side with incredible force. There would probably be fewer long-lasting injuries than what he was about to face.

Where Millie could be vexed over the simplest of things, Christopher was rather good at blowing things out of proportion with incredible skill and imagination. Seeing as nothing could ever be his fault, he chose to blame this quality on his mother like everything else that was possibly wrong with him. He felt justified.

"Don't be silly," said Henrietta, waving a hand indolently in his direction. "We're just overanxious to see which of us should be congratulated." There was an awkward pause where the girls turned to each other, smiling. "To Millie, the choice ought to be quite obvious."

"Of course," said Elizabeth. "The maid of honour should be the one who has done the most work to help out with this event, don't you agree, Christopher?"

"Oh, I quite disagree, and so should you, Christopher," said Henrietta, still smiling as sweetly as ever. "The maid of honour ought to be Millie's closest friend."

Christopher had heard his name mentioned specifically more times in this one conversation than he was comfortable with. Generally speaking, being mentioned by name meant that he would have to respond or risk being a neanderthal in the eyes of polite society. Christopher valued his record of shining etiquette and diplomacy, and coughed lightly, thinking to draw the conversation away from him.

"That's besides the point, " he said, waving his own hand to match Henrietta's. If she wanted to play at power struggle, then he certainly wasn't going to let her win. "The point is that I would like it if you would allow Millie her time, and she will choose the person who would act _most responsibly_ as a host and assistant at the wedding. There's more work to be done as a maid of honour than just looking pretty and holding flowers, you know."

This was where Christopher had run out of ideas of how best to back up his argument. Debating on the knife's edge was always much more interesting, and besides, he was too lazy to be coming up with conclusive arguments. Instead, he had prepared for the possible responses that he could have had and would make up the rest from there.

There were four responses he had thought would be the most likely to happen. The first of which was that both girls would calmly accept his advice, even if they were slightly vexed, and take it easy on the fiery glances for a little while. This was the one he hoped for, but was not entirely convinced could happen at all. Women could be so headstrong sometimes and set in their ways. (Somewhere in the universe, another Millie laughed hysterically for no apparent reason as this comment was thought, since Christopher's Millie was not around to hear the delicious hypocrisy of it.)

Possibility number two was that they would both be completely put-off with him and proceed to ignore him for the remainder of the time until Millie made her decision. Headstrong women also seemed to be convinced that the other gender knew absolutely nothing of anything. Christopher was not too concerned about having to avert disaster with this possibility, as most of the women in the castle were under the impression that he was an over theatrical youth with an obsession with fine clothes. Oh, the wrongness of it all.

Possibilities number three and four were where Christopher was focussing most of his efforts at reasoning. Number three was that both girls would look at him strangely and inquire further, which Christopher was not in any position to answer in an honest manner. To be truthful, Christopher knew very little of what a maid of honour did. Fortunately, Christopher could probably be given a doctorate in the art of lying creatively and dry humour that most people didn't pick up on. 'What they don't know isn't true or a joke, they don't ask questions about' would be the slogan on his diploma.

Possibility four was what made Christopher wonder whether or not he ought to lock the door until the time was right. Possibility number four was that both girls would demand for Millie to tell them immediately who was going to be the maid of honour as not to hear any more of the crock of nonsense that Christopher was feeding them. There would likely be tears, yelling, and his name mentioned very specifically by all parties involved, wherein he would have to explain to Millie that he was trying to defend her from the slings and arrows of jealous girls, playing the knight in shining armour. While this appealed to Christopher's sense of melodrama, he knew that this was the Worst Case Scenario that always ought to be planned for. To prevent any incidents, he would simply call a third party into the issue. Gabriel had kindly agreed to appear if Christopher in any way was in danger of being discovered as a sarcastic sod. Well, more specifically, if they realized he was being a sarcastic sod in this particular instance, since everyone already knew that he could be filled with snark and improvised facts at any given time of the day.

But this wasn't about analysing his...idiosyncrasies, but rather it was about saving Millie from grief.

Somehow, he was getting that dreadful feeling that it wasn't going to work.

"...I don't believe you, Christopher Chant, not for a minute that you would know anything at all about the difference between the maid of honour and the bridesmaids," said Elizabeth, giving him a look of upmost disgust at his audacity. "You hardly knew while you were helping with the wedding what the difference between the best man and the groomsmen were until Millie explained it to you, suffice to say that you had already chosen Conrad without hesitation to be the best man."

"For once, I agree, Elizabeth," said Henrietta. "Christopher, I demand that you find Millie at once and bring her here."

So possibility number four, was it? With a quickly drawn seal behind his back, Christopher called for Gabriel. Perhaps even an old grouch like him would be able to answer questions or make these self-proclaimed reasonable people see...well, see reason.

Christopher was vexed. It was making him think in less than eloquent sentences, which only served to make his vexation much worse.

But apparently, there was a God, and he had temporarily smiled at Christopher and brought Gabriel quickly to the door to delay these girls that he had known through all of his adolescence. Gabriel, to Christopher's suspicion, was looking rather smug. This did not bode well for him, and as such, Christopher made note of the exits.

"Ladies," said Gabriel, "I see that Christopher has finally dared to try and stop your little unspoken strained coexistence, and perhaps has bitten off more than he could chew." Christopher seethed for a minute, not feeling that way at all. He had simply called Gabriel because Gabriel had more clout with the children and young adults of Chrestomanci Castle. (By clout, Christopher of course meant that Gabriel had the power of intimidation and the power of absolute authority. Christopher made it a point to establish his own clout just as soon as he could. He rather liked the idea of being able to freeze blood within people's veins with a tilt of the head and a blunt sentence.)

The girls smiled appreciatively, but still looked hostile.

Gabriel looked completely pleased with himself, like he had been waiting for this moment. "But you see, what neither of you realize is that Millie has already chosen her maid of honour." Both girls perked up. "And it happens to be her bosom friend, Emily, since she began at that girl's school, oh, some five years ago. They apparently promised each other to serve as maids of honour at each others weddings in the tradition of those books they are both so fond of, "Millie and The Wedding Plans" if I recall correctly."

Henrietta, Elizabeth, and Christopher all froze. It really was unfair that Gabriel could smile like a Cheshire cat in this situation. For an old grouch, he certainly was having more fun than Christopher had in the course of six months.

Christopher tried not to panic. Okay, so an unprecedented possibility five had just reared its ugly head. The "best friend that the other two didn't know about" possibility. The one thing he would have never considered at all. He had only met this Emily person once, during the hols a couple summers ago, but Christopher did have to concede that Millie and Emily had been inseparable.

Everything would be okay. They were all adults here, and he was positive that Millie would properly explain soon.

"WOT?!" both girls exclaimed in overwhelming volume. They looked at Christopher. "This is your fault, isn't it? I bet you told Millie about the sock argument and made her change her mind!"

"But I..." He was cut off.

"Oh, shut up!" said Elizabeth, looking betrayed. Christopher wondered if she was truly angry, or just momentarily thrown off his game. Elizabeth was supposed to be the practical one after all. "I can't believe that Millie wouldn't mention this to me. It wounds me to hear it through _you_" she looked at Gabriel, "instead of Millie herself."

"Agreed," said Henrietta, whose face was turning dangerously red in her irritation. They quickly went trotting out of the room, boot heels violently clicking against the floor towards the library. Christopher rubbed his face in frustration, before turning to Gabriel.

"Why?" he said, that horrible sort of 'why' that he had heard more times than he could count from the Countess in Series Seven. He was beginning to understand why someone would feel obligated to make such a sound at all.

And here he thought he was just being noble.

Gabriel smiled wryly. "You are now forgiven for running off to save Millie without permission. I trust that we could now be considered even for all the trouble you caused me. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some work to get done and you should go be on damage control."

Christopher sighed. He really needed to stop coming up with harebrained plans that ended in his improvising. They didn't seem to work out very well, at least without Conrad. He really couldn't wait for tomorrow, when some reason would be returned to this madness. He really hoped he would grow some tact in the next week.

As it turned out, both girls had talked to Millie, been introduced to Emily, and had worked everything out wonderfully. The four of them got along beautifully, and Christopher's intervention had been wholly unnecessary. Millie had laughed at him, patted him on the back and offered him a kiss on the cheek.

"Don't worry, love," she said, "I won't let them put you in lilac and mustard yellow as revenge for upsetting them. But do stop trying to keep your hand in something you had declared wanting little part in. We'll just call this a learning experience in interference, okay?"

"Small mercies," he said, staring at the ceiling.

* * *

A/N: The sock theory, the bashing skulls together to remedy fights, and getting blamed for not being the maid of honour are all real events from my life or my cousin's wedding. Fortunately, I only witnessed the skull bashing instead of taking an active part.

I'll take a moment to explain my characterization of Christopher for this chapter. Christopher is still not quite as suave with the ladies that he's known for a long time. He might have been able to improvise through Stallery Mansion, but I don't believe for a minute that he could pull the same crap on people who have known him for a long time. Let's just call this Christopher's last attempt at intervention in Millie's plans. Even in "Conrad's Fate", I always got the feeling that Christopher was improvising his way into disaster. Leaving the possibility shift button at 'on' just clinched it for me.

So it may be a bit of a stretch, but I'm certain that Christopher probably picked up a lot of his maturity when he became the full-fledged Chrestomanci, and was probably his smart-aleck self until responsibility hit him in the head with a lead brick.

We're all young and stupid at some point, right?

So, thank you for the feedback, I always look forward to it, and pointing out errors is welcome since I generally don't see them until weeks later.


End file.
